Gentlemen Prefer Succubi

It was a man or a Serim. Once. Red, unholy eyes glared into the thick blackness, and the sound of sniffing filled the silence. Then his eyes focused on me. “Blood,” the man growled, his mouth opening to reveal an enormous set of white fangs.

Yikes!

I slid a shaking hand under my shirt, reaching for the vamp derringer. Before I could whip the gun out of its holster, Zane was stepping forward, arms spread wide in a protective gesture as he blocked me from the creature’s view. “That one belongs to me, friend,” Zane said, his voice taking on an urbane, smooth quality that I was learning to recognize as his “charmer” voice. “You’ll have to look elsewhere for your first meal.”

First meal? My mind flashed back to Zane’s previous comment about incubating, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. The red-eyed monster was a newly made vampire, and he was hungry as hell and looking to me for dinner.

I slid the derringer into my hand and cocked it. The click echoed in the silence, but neither vampire turned to look at me. They were locked in a showdown, circling each other like a fanged version of West Side Story.

Zane’s eyes flared red and he bared his fangs. “She is mine,” he repeated.

At that moment, the torch sputtered and went out, leaving me in darkness save for the red eyes that reminded me that I was alone in a tomb with two vampires, one of which was very, very hungry.

The stupid Itch was aroused by the fact that the two men were fighting over me, and my body throbbed with a mixture of fear and excitement. Would Zane win? What would happen if he didn’t?

I backed up against the wall, gun clutched in my hand as I waited.

One set of red eyes leapt at the other, then there was a terrible orgy of sounds as the two vampires launched into an epic fight in the dark. Snarling, hissing, and the sound of flesh tearing filled the air. I cringed with each new sound, wondering if Zane was winning, or if I’d have to run for my life. The hot tang of blood filled me with fear, and I clutched the gun with shaking fingers, hoping I wouldn’t have to shoot.

After a few tense minutes there was a cry of pain and the sound of fabric tearing, and the next thing I knew, rough hands were grabbing me by the arms.

It was now or never-I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The boom was deafening, and the explosion of light illuminated a bloody and battle-torn Zane.

Whom I’d just shot.

“Zane,” I cried as he began to curse long and fluently.

The gun was wrestled out of my hand. “Where did you get this?” His angry voice pounded in my ear, and I shrank against the tomb wall.

“Remy gave it to me.”

“You’ve nearly shot my hand off,” he said, barely leashed fury in his voice.

I bit my lip. “I wasn’t sure if it was you or not. How was I supposed to know?”

“You could have fucking asked! How many shots are in this ridiculous little gun?”

“Um, two.”

Zane stormed away, his footsteps echoing in the silence, punctuated by a faint groan from the vampire he’d just defeated. There was another click, and another gunshot rocked the tomb.

The moaning stopped.

“Our friend’s taken care of now,” Zane said, his voice cold.

A shudder racked through me and I slid along the wall, frightened of what Zane might do to me, trying to feel my way to the exit. My fingers discovered air-the doorway. I crouched low and scrambled back through the long tunnel, panting with fear.

The wind cooled my clammy, sticky face as I emerged on trembling legs. The camels whuffed at the sight of me and I ran straight for the first mount in full-blown panic mode. Untying him, I slapped his rump to send him off into the desert, stranding Zane out here. All I wanted was to get away from angry vampires, friend or foe.

I managed to shimmy up into my kneeling camel’s saddle and slapped at the creature’s rump. The beast tried to bite me, but when I slapped its rump again it began to trot away at a rapid pace.

I didn’t start to breathe until my camel crested a dune and the tomb was out of sight. I checked to see if Zane was running after us, but the desert was empty. Part of me felt strangely disappointed that he wasn’t bothering to pursue, but I quelled the feeling, concentrating on staying atop my camel. I’d find my way back to Cairo somehow.

Suddenly rough hands encircled my waist, and before I had the time to think, I was plucked off the camel’s back and hoisted straight into the air. A scream tore from my throat and I struggled, totally disoriented and confused as to what was going on.

“Stop fidgeting,” Zane admonished from above me. “You just about killed my hand with your damned gun, and my grip’s not so good. It’ll be your fault if I drop you on the sand, and that’ll be a long, painful recovery.”

I stilled in his arms, not quite willing to believe my senses. The smell of cigarettes and sand and another smell I couldn’t quite place filled my nostrils. “Z-Zane?”

“Put your arms around me, Princess, and it’ll make the flight a lot easier on both of us.” His voice sounded strained.

I turned over to wrap my arms around his neck, and wonder and disbelief struck me as I watched his long, beautiful ebony wings flap in the night sky-wings that stretched from Zane’s corded, muscular back.

“Your trench coat,” I murmured, realizing that my hands were knotted against his bare skin and not his leather trench coat. “It’s gone.”

“Lost it in the fight,” he agreed, his gaze focused on the ground below us. “Do me a favor and save the small talk for later, all right? I’m not in the mood.”

I huddled against his neck and watched his gorgeous wings flap above me. Wings. All this time, and he never told me. This is what he traded for when he became a vampire.

It was a sobering thought, one that kept me quiet until we reached the hotel several hours later, when dawn was beginning to color the skies with pink.

Zane landed on the roof with a slight thump and released me. “Do you still have your burqa?” he asked, his massive wings folding against his back like a neat, black-feathered cloak. His face was shuttered as he stared at me, his eyes cold slits.

“I lost it in the desert,” I said, feeling slightly ashamed. Why the hell did I feel guilty? I had no reason to, but somehow he managed to make me feel like a misbehaving child.

He strode past me and headed for the door that led down into the hotel, pulled it open, and gestured for me to enter before him.

I stepped past him and descended the utility stairs.

“If we meet anyone on the way to your room, I want you to distract them, understand me?” His dark eyes blazed with anger. Definitely furious at me.

I nodded in silence and headed for our hall.

A busboy pushed a room service cart down the hall as we turned the final corner to our rooms, and I froze at the sight of him.

He stilled at the sight of me as well, noticing my stained, sweaty T-shirt and the blood on my shorts. (Zane’s blood, not mine.)

Zane coughed behind me, reminding me of my task, and I strode forward toward the busboy.

“Hi, there,” I said, sidling up to the cart and leaning over it to smile at him. “You must be room service. What’ve you got for me?”

His jaw dropped slightly as I leaned forward, and his eyes focused on my double-Ds. “M-miss Brighton,” he stammered. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”